Kaleidoscope
by Superis
Summary: — a continually changing pattern of shapes and colors. One-shot collection.
1. Halo

**Note :** A **one-shot/drabble** collection. You may present **challenges** as you please. It's all very **volatile**, so be warned.  
Oh! I **don't own** _Ouran High School Host Club_. (Or it would have taken **less** than 67 chapters for Haruhi and Tamaki to realize  
they love each other, thank you very much.) Anyway, enjoy! (:

* * *

**0.**_**1**_**. Halo : **"_Aura; an indication of radiant light. Sometimes, when he stood in the sunlight..._"

* * *

"_When_ was the first time I **noticed** it?"

* * *

He hadn't realized who he was until he looked him in the eyes. Suou Tamaki may have let everybody he came into contact with into is life -- beyond those indestructible walls that Kyouya had created around himself -- but sometimes, if you were lucky, you'd see what it really meant to be King.

He didn't trust him at first. Didn't want to be near him. Didn't want to be _friends_ with him.

He didn't want _friends_.

He was doing it for his father. And yet, when he sometimes sits alone in the third music room, he closes his eyes, and he knows Tamaki would have found some way to break those walls.

For some reason, he had never been able to get Tamaki out of his mind for weeks and weeks. Nothing but gold and indigo would fill his vision. Everywhere he looked, he was surrounded by it. He wondered if it was part of Tamaki's plan - to follow him until he loved him.

He didn't really have to try hard.

So, for once, Kyouya is beyond questioning it.

* * *

Tono.

They call him that because that is what he honestly seemed to be. An annoying, stuck-up child. Someone who thought they were a "Lord." And that is exactly what he became.

It was, at first, a childish nickname, but evolved of its own accord. Hikaru and Kaoru would look at each other, and realize that they didn't understand their "Lord" at all. Why did he chose to take them in? Why did their world expand so spontaneously? Tamaki had told them that this would happen - but they didn't believe him. It seemed impossible for anyone to enter their shell. Tamaki didn't even know how to tell them apart properly, for Heaven's sake.

_"Kaoru, this headband won't tie!"_

_"Ne, Hikaru, just calm yourself!" Kaoru sighed. "You flail too much."_

_"I'm _not_ flailing!"_

_They heard soft laughter from behind them and they both turned, raising their eyebrows._

_Tamaki stood in the doorframe, holding a white sash in his hands. "I've brought a sash to complete Hikaru's outfit. Sorry it's late - I guess it was my fault. I couldn't decide between the plum turban and the crimson turban!"_

_He strode forward, and Kaoru reached out automatically, meaning to take it from Tamaki so he wouldn't get confused between them, as he usually did when they had tea or dressed up in costumes. He often said _'I'll-learn-one-day' _whenever the twins would get mixed up, but they both doubted that would ever happen._

_Instead, Tamaki placed the sash in Hikaru's arms, smiling genially. "It's the right color, ne, Hikaru?"_

_They stared at him, stunned, and for just a moment, felt blinded by sunlight._

At least, he never used to be able to.

* * *

His true strength - his courage - was admitting to who he was. He never forgot it - not once. Because if he could just learn to follow those words that Tamaki had told him, he could also teach others that being yourself is the most important thing possible (along with cake).

Honey watched Tamaki for the first few days. He never once saw Tamaki doubt his actions or movements. Because of this self-confidence, Tamaki was graceful.

He was flawless.

And he never forgot how thankful he was. Because Tamaki - no matter how many times he threw himself on the floor, got scared of 'black magic', cried in the corner or breathed fire - had saved him.

And so, he promised himself, he would always be there for him. One day, _he_ would be Tamaki's saving grace.

* * *

He made Mitsukuni happy. He made him smile. And Mori's trust just seemed to slot in place after he heard Tamaki's words.

His heart was strong.

And that was all he needed.

There were never words to express it, anyway.

* * *

She, just like Kyouya, didn't question it either. When she finally admitted that she was in love with him, it didn't make life any easier. It just seemed to complicate things. Her life melded with his despite the fact that they didn't have a single thing in common.

Haruhi supposes, when she thinks about it, that one of the reasons that she fell in love with him, is because you could read his emotions on his face. They would always be etched into his face, as clear as day. And most of the time, that emotion was pure joy. _Contagious_ joy.

She remembered the day that they went "Treasure Hunting" with a map found by the Gardening Club.

Until Tamaki showed up, there were only a few of them. And yet, when he appeared, the whole school seemed to have sensed his presence. They surrounded him within minutes. As if they were all attracted to his indefinable aura.

Haruhi had a very sketchy understanding of him. It had his outlines - his attributes. But she could never color the image in. Nothing seemed to be quite the right shade.

And she understood that, sometimes, the rest of the club didn't understand him at all too.

It was a comforting sort-of thought. Because that meant that she wasn't the only one trying to understand him.

* * *

The Club assembles in the Music Room, all dressed up as pirates (Tamaki had just watched _Pirates of the Caribbean_). The King stands before them all, a magnificent smile on his face, brandishing his scimitar wildly (Kyouya has all advised them to stand at least three meters away from Tamaki while he is doing this).

"Are we ready?" He says, looking as if he is about to burst into sparkles. Or something equally shiny.

Kyouya surveys the room. "Looks like it. Shall we let them in?"

Tamaki doesn't answer for a minute. His eyes went slightly darker, as if someone had tipped ink into them. "Let's.. let's do our best today, okay?"

Hikaru cocks his head to one side. "Don't we always, tono?"

Haruhi smiles slightly. She watches as Tamaki positions himself near the entrance.

A stream of sunlight, startlingly brighter than the rest of the light filtering into the room, hits his frame. He turns to nod at Kyouya.

And for just a brief moment in time, the whole Club stops all at once.

Tamaki, once again, reveals himself as being completely abstruse. It wasn't the color of his eyes changing from a deep, rich purple to a faint lavender. Nor was it his infectious smile. But the sun, glinting off his hair. Whether it was a trick of the light, or the mere fact that they were all friends with him:

they, transiently, saw a halo.

* * *

They understood him.

* * *

**f**_in_**.

* * *

**

**Next _up_:** "And, sometimes, he would forget his place amongst their family. Being 'mother' also meant being 'wife.'"


	2. Aegis

**0.**_**2**_**. Aegis : **"_And, sometimes, he would forget his place amongst their family. Being 'mother' also meant being 'wife.'_"

* * *

"Do I rely on **you** to _protect_ me?"

* * *

"That was successful!" Tamaki says in apparent ecstasy, clasping his hands together. "Ne, Kyouya?"

It has been a while since '_Kyouya_' came out of his mouth. Recently - ever since Haruhi, to be more precise, but he didn't want to drop names - Tamaki has taken to saying '_Okaa-san_' every time he looks at Kyouya.

Kyouya only acknowledges this nickname because Tamaki is, after all, his best friend.

(And because he does not want to deal with another fit of hysterics.)

"Yes, it was fairly successful."

"Do you think Haruhi has anything to do with it?" Tamaki says excitedly, prancing about the 'Cool Type' daintily. It looks as if he is floating about on puffs of pure euphoria. Wait, not floating - _levitating_. Because this emotion is obviously a constant. Floating implies that at some point, he will have to hit the ground and catch a rude awakening. At least while he is _levitating_, Kyouya can control the impact.

"It's probable." He cast a sly look at Tamaki. "After all, she is _your_ daughter."

He stops completely at these words, in the middle of the gardens. Kyouya continues to walk, knowing that Tamaki will follow.

Sure enough, after a few moments, he hears the soft, but hurried, footfalls of the King.

"Kyouya?"

"Yes, Tamaki?"

"You don't _mind_ being okaa-san, right?"

This is a strange question for Kyouya. He doesn't mind. It doesn't affect his life in any way. Nothing changes.

And yet--

Up until now, he didn't realize that being 'mother' to that bunch of well-bred hooligans (if such a thing subsists), also meant being 'wife' to the impossible teenager standing next to him.

Why does it seem like Kyouya is getting the short end of the stick?

"Kyou_ya_!" A sudden whine jerks him out of his reverie. "I _know_ that look -- that look means that you're thinking too hard about something. What have I told you about thinking? Do not stress yourself so much! Otherwise you'll get lots of wrinkles and won't grow up to be as flawless as yours truly! I mean, we could buy some of that wrinkle-free cream (is that what is it called? Shima has some! I know this only because I was exploring one day and ended up in her bathroom, a mistake, really! But she didn't believe me. I really don't know _why_..) and apply it together--"

To be quite honest, he doesn't really have a problem. He just likes getting under Tamaki's skin.

And, strangely enough, he finds an odd sense of protection whenever he's there. It's comfortable -- it feels like a family should.

"--but then imagine if Antoinette ate some! Is it poisonous? If it removes wrinkles, it must be! Don't they have dog-friendly wrinkle cream? Aha! I need to add this to my memo!" Tamaki whips out a small black book and pen, jotting it down quickly. "Hm, I'll have to research it soon! First I have a research project to do on commoner thrift stores (whatever they are)!"

Kyouya smiles lightly, laughter brushing his lips. "I don't, for future reference."

"Don't what?" Tamaki blinks at him, clearly lost.

He sighs. Obviously Tamaki isn't always a very attentive 'husband.'

"I don't mind being 'okaa-san.'" He explains.

Tamaki gives him a funny sort of look. It's like he's half-amused, half-exasperated. "Well, I know _that_, Kyouya. Your look told me."

He frowns slightly at Tamaki, wondering when/how he noticed in the midst of his rambling.

There he was, thinking that being 'wife' would be harder than being 'mother.'

* * *

**f**_in_**.

* * *

**

**Next _up_:** "On occasion, everyone needed to take refuge."


	3. Purlieu

**0.**_**3**_**. Purlieu : **"_On occasion, everyone needed to take refuge."_

_

* * *

_"**Where** do _I_ hide?"

* * *

"We missed you at the meeting today."

Kaoru is standing on the edge of what seems to be a forest. The trees here are thick and a rich, startling green. They huddle close together, as if they are a family, and try to protect one another from whatever may come. He leans casually against the strong, rough bark of one of the trees, trying to let keep whatever emotions he was feeling earlier on at bay.

The boy he is addressing turns, blinking slowly. "Kaoru?"

He smiles placidly, hoping to ease Tamaki out of whatever 'trauma' he is having gently. That is if, however, he _is_ having one.

Tamaki had been denying all ties with a trauma just a few weeks ago, complaining of several non-descript things and making vague references to events no one quite understood (except, perhaps, Kyouya -- but he knew _everything_ anyway).

"I'm glad you haven't forgotten me, Tono!"

He receives an odd, glowing smile at this point. Kaoru feels as if a weight lifts off his shoulders -- he is familiar with that smile.

"Don't be ridiculous, Kaoru! I never forget." Tamaki declares, leaning back on the grassy verge he sits on. "I just like to think, sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Kaoru quips teasingly, taking a seat next to the 'King.'

To his slight surprise, Tamaki does not break into a fit of tears. Part of him expects this calm, unruffled reaction -- the surroundings are to serene for any sort of ripples to be caused -- but he cannot help but wonder why.

"Kaoru?"

He tilts his head slightly to show that he is listening. He is also observing a nearby butterfly, which is fluttering by in the dim sunlight.

"Is.. is it wrong to want to be alone once in a while?"

He feels himself relate to Tamaki at this point. Where Tamaki is always surrounded by his many adoring fangirls/boys, is usually planning something delightfully exotic, and nearly always has something up his sleeve, you would think that he would make time for himself _somewhere_ along the line.

But things like that don't cross his mind. Tamaki _wants_ to be with those people, helping them in whichever way he can (even if it _is_ just cup of tea). He _wants_ to always be treating those around him to a taste of the unknown (particularly Haruhi). He _wants_ to be able to show people their dreams -- even if _they_ are unaware of them.

'Experiences of all kinds,' are the words that often fall from his lips.

He says them all the time. Tamaki wears out those words, sometimes, like an old shoe.

But it still has this bright fragment of soul, that shines through every single time he steps up.

Kaoru understands this need to be along just _sometimes_, too. It's like taking a quick breather. To smell the roses, to appreciate the view. He can quite openly say he's gotten used to the ashen color of Hikaru's hair. It does startle him every now and then, when he gets up in the morning, and only sees _one_ person.

An _individual_.

And while it scares him to be this new person -- no plural there -- he finds it almost refreshing. Because these days, he is no longer 'Hikaru-or-is-it-Kaoru?' He's just Kaoru. Not just another mirror image in the crowd.

"No," he answers quietly. "It's not."

Tamaki turns to smile at Kaoru. A slow, dazzling smile. The kind that never really ceases to amaze (even when the owner of this smile is busy obsessing over a 'commoner' post-it note pack he bought recently).

"I forgot to tell you, Kaoru." Tamaki says after a few moments of comforting silence. "I'm proud of you."

Kaoru gives him a weary look. "Tono, I thought were were passed the whole 'I-am-daddy' phase--"

"Of course we're past it! But it was _fun_ being daddy. Do you think I'll make a good father, Kaoru?"

"Yes, yes." He answers impatiently. "Now, what are you on about? Kyouya sent us out to look for you, and he's going to get very suspicious if I'm the only one not back within the hour time limit."

"There's a _time limit _now? Jeez, Kyouya is getting paranoid."

"Oh no, he said he wanted us back within an hour simply because he wants to be home for dinner."

".. Ah." Tamaki smiles sheepishly for a moment. "Well, I just wanted to say I'm proud of you."

"For.. ?"

"For being you. Without anyone beside you." He says simply. "I do understand, though, we all take refuge in our own ways. Sometimes, it just means spreading our wings, and other times it means being alone."

Kaoru turns to stare at Tamaki. "I - well. Thank you, Tono."

Tamaki grins. "Let's go back! I want to show Haruhi that I purchased some pencil leads all by _myself_ last weekend! I have the receipt and everything -- I tried to make the cashier sign it, but she just laughed at me. But Kyouya was there! He can vouch for me (which he hopefully will do, if we've arrived on time, and he has his dinner)."

This just makes Kaoru wonder how someone so dense can be so articulate.

* * *

**f**_in_**.

* * *

**

**Next _up_: **"The feeling wasn't entirely unpleasant, to be honest."


	4. Frission

**0.**_**4**_**. Frission : **"_The feeling wasn't entirely unpleasant, to be honest."_

_

* * *

_"Why _can't_ I make this **feeling** _disappear_?_"  
_

* * *

Haruhi has never actually had a problem sleeping before. In fact, she _enjoys_ sleeping. It's like an escape - for want of a better word - from all the goes on around her.

But, here she lays tonight, unable to even close her eyes and pretend she's sleeping. Usually, pretending that she is asleep leads to the actual thing. She lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, that is like a momentary breath of relief.

"Sleeping never used to be difficult." She mumbles to herself, turning over and beating her pillow (with a bit more force than necessary) into a more comfortable shape.

For some odd reason, she's thinking about seeing Tamaki tomorrow. Well, it's not particularly _odd_ to think of seeing him tomorrow (and also dreading it); she's just surprised to find herself looking forward to seeing him.

This worries Haruhi.

After a moment of internal debate ("_It's like I'm sick, or something!_"), she stops to listen to the silence. Haruhi chews her lip unconsciously, relishing her fleeting relief.

"This is all that stupid, _King's_ fault." She says loudly, as if trying to convince herself. "That .. obsessive, conceited.. Tamaki."

It's almost like a familiar reaction to his name when she smiles slightly.

"Yes, that rich bastard."

* * *

**f**_in_**.

* * *

**

**Next _up_:** "And if food would just touch his lips."


	5. Abstemious

**0.**_**5**_**. Abstemious : **_"... and if food would just touch his lips."_

_

* * *

_"What is it I search for when I **look** at _you_?_"  
_

* * *

She had decided to watch him during a lunch period, one day. For when Haruhi was preparing tea for her father yesterday afternoon, she realized how little she saw Tamaki eat.

Yet there were bales of food to be found in that school (and at his house, surely). Everything seemed to come in excess where the rich were concerned: the clothes, the food, the drink and even the personalities. People were either far too cold, far too boisterous or some such thing. They didn't quite find equilibrium.

She stood for a moment in the kitchen, her fingers barely touching the cold, hard handle of the kettle. The room was doused in orange, credit to the setting sun. Everything shone with a strange, fluorescent light for a few minutes, and she found herself staring out the window, thinking of Tamaki's hair.

"Maybe he's watching his weight." She mumbled to herself, realizing that the tea was probably cold by now.

* * *

Haruhi did watch him the very next lunch period. She watched how he flitted from table to table, from host to host. He confirmed a ball here; he consented to an activity there. Tamaki sipped delicately at a gold-rimmed teacup occasionally, but these moments were few and far between. She wondered how he concentrated in class (did he even _go_ to class? He probably did - Tamaki was too stubbornly righteous to even think about truancy). She knew very well that she would keel over from exhaustion if she didn't eat lunch.

She lowered her tray slowly. It was laden with several ornately decorated cakes (they looked more like prettily decorated cushions to Haruhi, but she didn't want to offend Honey-Senpai by suggesting they spread them about on the couches somewhere). A few of the silver balls winked at her in the sunlight.

"Haruhi?"

She turned quickly, snapping out of her reverie. "Eh?"

Mori-Senpai looked down at her, his face impassive (as it usually was, she supposed). "The cakes."

"Oh, yes, the cakes! I'm sorry, Mori-Senpai, I was just thinking about.. about.."

Some part of her struggled to grasp at what she was thinking about. It seemed to just be slipping away from her, even as she tried to form words.

"Tamaki."

"Yes, Tamaki." Then, realizing what she had said, Haruhi shook her head. "I mean, no, not about Tamaki."

Mori-Senpai stared at her.

"Well.. I was thinking about him, I mean, but not.."

He continued to stare.

".. Eating. He should be, after all.."

And stare.

".. Energy."

He blinked once or twice. "Are you thinking about what Tamaki doesn't eat lunch?"

"W-what?" She looked at him sharply, wondering how Mori-Senpai seemed to know what people were thinking at the oddest moments.

He glanced at Tamaki (who was gesticulating wildly about how he had once, as a young lad, bought an exercise book from a commoner's stationery store). "Tamaki, as you know, is a very .. odd person."

Haruhi didn't know how to reply to this. It didn't sound as if Mori-Senpai was finished, anyway.

"But he doesn't like to eat lunch amongst people that pay to do so with him. He believes that lunch is a time for friends."

"What? What sort of stupid person would think _that_?" Haruhi said before she could stop herself. "Lunch is essential!"

Mori-Senpai took the cakes away from Haruhi (before she could throw them at Tamaki and do any serious damage). "I wouldn't worry yourself. He usually has Home Economics directly after lunch break."

"I'm not worrying about it." She said obstinately. "It's just.. stupid, that's all."

Haruhi didn't worry about it. In fact, she barely thought about the conversation the next day, and within a week, she had forgotten about it completely.

- - - - -

Host Club activities were canceled on Tuesday afternoon. Haruhi felt a sense of foreboding as a horde of young girls exited the room, looking dejected. She felt slightly despondent herself, but reasoned that she at least had extra time to study now. She turned to Kyouya, as he gathered a few files.

"Why are they canceled?" She asked, feeling she had a right to know.

He spared her a glance. "Tamaki is absent, as you may have noticed."

She had noticed, of course. It was hard not to notice, like a bee without its stripes.

"Yes." She said for no reason in particular. "But where is he?"

"He's.. a bit unwell."

For some unknown rationale, she felt a little sick herself at these words. She put it down to the cold, February air, and chilly nights.

"What's wrong?"

"He needs to eat lunch."

* * *

**f**_in_**.

* * *

**

**Next **_**up**_**:** _"_He was anything but original_."_


	6. Sequacious

**0.**_**6**_**. Sequacious : **"_He was anything but original."_

* * *

"How **far apart** does it set you and _I_?_"  
_

* * *

Hikaru cast a glance at the self-proclaimed 'King' fleetingly. His expression softened for a moment--

"--and Haruhi said to me--"

--then hardened the instant he heard those words leave Tamaki's mouth. Hikaru pressed his lips together, trying to keep his face very devoid and empty of emotion. He found this quite hard, because his emotions kept spilling over the edge, and surfacing for a few moments; it was like trying to keep water inside an already overflowing jug.

Hikaru looked at Tamaki again; this time his expression was much darker and more morose. He ran a finger over his knuckles, trying to distract his mind.

(It didn't work.)

"Hikaru."

Hikaru nearly fell off his velvet pouffe. He gripped the edges of the seat, his fingers digging into the material out of (what he thought was) concealed shock.

"Y-yes?"

He looked up and saw a pair of bright brown eyes and equally brown (and bright?) hair.

"H-Haruhi!"

She gave him a very quelling look. "Who did you think it was?"

"I.. I wasn't really thinking about that.."

She considered him for a moment, a tray of delicate teacups in her hands. Haruhi then proceeded to set the tray of expensive china down with a clattering sound (she's not been paying attention to Tamaki's forced lessons in etiquette) and seated herself on a chair near to his velvet pouffe. He had the bizarre desire to edge closer, but cringe away at the same time.

"Do you want some tea?"

".. Tea?" It took Hikaru a few moments to understand that she was offering him something. "Oh - no - no, thank you."

"Where's Kaoru?" Haruhi asked, undisturbed by Hikaru's behavior. She probably didn't notice the change in his behavior anyway, he noted sourly.

Hikaru shrugged. "Somewhere. Are you looking for him?"

Before she could answer, a burst of laughter erupted from the table at which Tamaki was entertaining. All the girls tittered shyly, some hiding behind their delicate teacups, trying to disguise their blushes (it made them look more conspicuous, really, but Tamaki was too polite to point any of this out). Tamaki continued in the retelling of his apparent highly amusing story, smiling warmly at his admirers.

Before Hikaru could stop himself, those feelings that he had been trying to shove hastily into a jug, spilled over the edge.

"Haruhi, how can you even _consider_ him?" His tone was almost bitter. "Look at him! So.. so.. so - there isn't even a word, really - why can't you - what is _wrong_ with - not _you_, of course, _him_ - doesn't he make you just want to - to--"

Haruhi stared at him for a while, looking sightly shocked (but still composed, as she had not managed to push the tray of teacups in surprise onto the floor just yet). "What are you talking about?"

"Him! Tono! Tamaki!" Hikaru tried to express every single name he could think of, but it didn't seem to cover much of Tamaki's personality at all.

When Haruhi didn't respond (she wasn't really paying attention; her customers were all waving bashfully at her from her table), Hikaru explained.

"He's so.. unoriginal."

She looked back at him, trying to divide her attention between her customers (still looking farouche), Kyouya (who was sure to come over and fine her several million yen for not being with said customers) and Hikaru (who was rambling on about something).

"Just.. he does everything by the book, you know? He's so proper and.. prim. I just - I don't see - what do _you_ see? I mean, assuming you see _anything_. But you might.. I mean, _they_ do. Not that you're like them! (Unless you want to be like them.. do you?) .. No spontaneity, no.. nothing."

It took Haruhi a short while to thread all these sentences together and try to form a rough picture of what (and who) Hikaru was talking about. It was rather like starting on a jigsaw puzzle without a reference picture.

"You think Tamaki-Senpai isn't spontaneous?" Haruhi said before she could stop herself. "I thought you knew him well!"

"I do!" Hikaru snapped indignantly. He found it a bit odd to see that despite his anger with Tamaki, he still felt offended - and even hurt - at the suggestion that he didn't know his Tono. "He is - but at the same time, he isn't. Do you.. understand?"

This question was greeted by a long pause in which Hikaru fidgeted feebly with the tassels on his pouffe.

"He's not really.." She took a breath. "You're right. There's no actual word to describe him."

He looked up at her, half-relieved and half-confused. "Then what is it?"

"What is what?" Haruhi stood up, no longer able to ignore her customers calling out to her with their tiny waves (and Kyouya's deathly stare, suggesting that she move back to her table right now before he has to add half a million yen to her debt).

"What is.. he .. ?" His question trailed away as Haruhi departed, leaving him sitting alone on a pouffe, hiding behind a large, gilded chair.

He stared at Tamaki for what felt like a long time. It wasn't so much looking at his physical features, but more of the desire to understand simply through sight. Hikaru strained his eyes, looking for something - anything. If only he knew _what_ he was looking for.

He didn't find it that day. Or any days following it. In fact, Hikaru was sure that even if he spent his entire life searching, he still wouldn't find it. Whatever he was looking for was elusive and slight. It came in passing, like the shadows of twilight or a simple whisper.

Several days later, Haruhi stopped next to him as he brooded on the very same pouffe (he had begun pulling off tassels in frustration).

"So?" She prompted. Another tray of teacups hovered by his head.

"So what?" Hikaru said moodily.

Haruhi sighed. "What was it?"

He looked at Haruhi's deep, brown eyes, and had the fleeting impression of trying to grasp at something that was slipping from his fingers very quickly.

"I.. don't know."

* * *

**f**_in_**.**

* * *

**Next **_**up**_**:** _"_Uncontrollable, inexplicable, unreal bouts of emotion were always his forte."


	7. Paroxysm

**0.**_**7**_**.** **Paroxysm : **"_Uncontrollable, inexplicable, unreal bouts of emotion were always his forte_."

* * *

"How do I _control_ **myself**?"

* * *

"Tono?"

He's leaning forward slightly, trying to stroke the petals of a lily. He looks absorbed, almost distant. As if he is inhabiting a completely different world (which he probably is). The club has finished its activities for the day, and Tamaki, being the courteous gentleman he is, is waiting for the rest of the Host Club (namely Haruhi) to exit the Third Music Room before locking up for the night.

Not that they ever locked the Third Music Room. Maybe if they did, certain females-resembling-males wouldn't stumble into it and break very expensive vases (that they didn't like anyway, which is why it was being auctioned off in the first place). That way, they would be saved a lot of trouble, time and, most importantly to Kyoua, money.

But where would the fun in life go if we took away Haruhi?

Hikaru is pretty sure Tamaki will slowly impolde if they are to take Haruhi away now. He can almost see it in his mind's eye..

"_Haruhi .. Where is .. Haruhi?"_

"_Eh, Kyouya-Senpai, why is Tono turning that color?"_

"_.. Oh snap."_

Now that he thinks of it, he had never heard Kyouya say 'oh snap' before. That guy speaks damn Queen's English. Maybe he should replace 'oh snap' with 'oh well.'

"Yes, Hikaru?"

"I was just wondering .. are you busy this weekend?"

Tamaki looks thoughtful for a moment, as if consulting some sort of inner-day-planner. Hikaru wonders if this day planner is covered in roses and glitter. Or maybe its gold and gilded, like an undersized frame, with a purple trim. Why is Tamaki's taste so _inconsistent_, anyway?

"No, not really." He gives him a smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, Kaoru says he is busy this weekend, and so do Honey-Senpai and Mori-Senpai .. and so did Haruhi .. and I don't even want to think about asking Kyouya-Senpai.."

(Basically, Hikaru is saying that Tamaki is a 'last resort.')

"Hikaru!" Sparkle, sparkle, shine, shine. "You want to have a friendly day just with me?!"

Friendly day?

"S-sure?"

Hikaru doesn't quite know how, but the next moment, Tamaki dissolves into tears. He looks torn between the whole idea of a 'friendly day' and something a lot like sadness. He dithers for a moment, before finally patting Tamaki on the back with a gruff, "There there."

"I-I'm sorry, Hikaru!" Tamaki hiccups. "I w-was just t-thinking that we've ne-never had a friendly day, j-just the two of u-us, before!"

In between patting Tamaki gingerly on the back, silently signaling Haruhi for some water and a napkin and trying to figure out what a 'friendly day' is, Hikaru is pulled into a hug. He remains frigid and tense for a moment, unsure of how to respond to the sudden pair of arms around him. Then, he feels he own arms acting of their own accord ("_what the hell are they doing_?!") and hugging Tamaki back.

Only after their 'friendly day' does Hikaru realize that he had managed to make Tamaki go from thoughtful and brooding to intrigued to sparkly and ecstatic, then to sad and tearful and finally to emotional and affectionate.

What the hell is up with that guy, anyway? He asks himself as he searches for a painkiller. All he seems to do, these days, is give me a headache. And if I say that to him, I'll never hear the end of it for at least a week.

Hikaru sighs, recalling their 'friendly day.' It had been enjoyable, much to his surprise, and hardly a tedious encounter, as he initially thought it would be. In fact, he wouldn't mind having another one of those 'friendly days.' Maybe if they give it a better name, it wouldn't sound so trite.

Maybe.. maybe next time we have one, I can talk to him about it.

The thought cheers Hikaru up considerably, and he leaves the room, a slight smile on his face. A small painkiller and a white, plastic jar lie abandoned on the counter. His headache had miraculously disappeared. Obviously, someone has learned a thing or two from a certain King.

* * *

**f**_in_**.**

* * *

**Next **_**up**_**:** A challenge proposed by 'Shadows . Dance' - huzzah, I love a good challenge! And the whole Elcair-Tamaki debacle is deliciously intricate. Wish me luck. (:


	8. Truckle

**0.**_**8**_**. Truckle : **"_She didn't know if he was being polite or merely condescending, but he couldn't possibly be sincere_."

* * *

"Do your _actions_ **betray** you?"

* * *

It's in between the dead of night and the break of dawn. She couldn't quite see the morning sky, nor the sun spilling across the edge of the horizon. The day looms somewhere in the middle of the beginning of daybreak and the ending of the hours of darkness, tinting the sky a dull grey that shimmers like iron. She tilts her head to one side, her soft brown hair cascading to one side and across her perfect, frosted face. As if carved of ice, she rests exquisitely on a gilded chair, her hand lying elegantly on the arm, unmoving and cold. The sun peaks over the edge, a few rays of gold escaping to caress the colorless sky.

She blinks, the silence of the room settling like a thick, heavy blanket around her. It feels as if she had gone to sleep and woken to find her home covered in snow, muffling all sound. _Suffocating_.

Not that she had slept properly since _then_. If anything, she's suffering from insomnia.

Because he smiled.

And up until now, she can't fathom if the smile was genuine or not. A slow, quiet, thankful smile. Maybe he smiled out of pity - sympathy he felt for her. Maybe he smiled condescendingly, looking down on her as he reached out to save that insufferable girl. The girl he _loves_.

She jerks her head suddenly at that word, making an impatient noise at the back of her throat. She doesn't believe in love.

Éclair rises from her chair, her dress falling in sheaths to the floor, slithering across it with soft hisses. She walks straight to the mirror; ready to find every single flaw she can on her face. Ready to see all her sins reflected in one, hard glance.

Yet when she reaches the mirror - that shiny, deceiving surface - she sees nothing. Her eyes stare emptily at her pale skin, illuminated by the slivers of sunlight leaking through the curtains.

She blinks again, her blue eyes dark and brooding, as if they are sickening for something.

She remains still for a while, unable to see anything but lavender and gold in the mirror, as she holds her breath. A part of her regrets letting him go - she hates him.

But another part of her, a newly discovered and slightly smaller part of her, revels in the moment. The moment, she now feels, she grew up. Stopped being a child, stopped trying to control everything.

There's a soft knock on the door, and Éclair turns her head. "Yes?"

A woman with flowing, blonde hair and a bright face enters, smiling softly. "Éclair-sama, you are still awake?"

She hesitates before she answers, a million thoughts skittering across her mind. She doesn't know how to tell the lady in front of her that she saw her son. Or even if she should. Somehow, Éclair feels as if she knows anyway.

"You look different today." The woman says suddenly, cutting through her thoughts. "Did something happen?"

Éclair looks into the mirror once again, a smile gracing her features. "You could say that."

She smiles at Éclair, just as her son did once upon a time.

"Tamaki has that effect."

* * *

**f**_in_**.**

* * *

**Next _up_:** "False accusations, lies and slander, yet their smiles never slid out of place."


	9. Traduce

**0.**_**9**_**. Traduce** : "_False accusations, lies and slander, yet their smiles never slid out of place."_

_

* * *

_"What are you **hiding** _beneath_ your smile?"_

* * *

_

The first time she saw the flaws, she didn't believe them. They came trickling through the cracks in the perfect, sparkling sheen of life she saw from afar. Everything was smiles, sunshine and money, glitter and flowers, gilded furniture and endless windows, happy grins and laughter - that was how it was supposed to be, in her mind. There was no such thing as sadness, pain or fear in their world. They lived in one where it never rained, but the flowers always bloomed, each one faultless and bright. The birds always sang and the people always smiled, drinking chutes of sparkly champagne. They were supposed to be joyful smiles, full of delicate cheer and royalty, rich and pure bred.

The world they do live in turned out to be much more twisted.

Haruhi first glimpsed this world when she saw the way his grandmother treated him. She didn't even bother to fake a smile, yet his stayed firmly in place, fixed and glassy. She saw the odd, glazed look that came over his face, they way his eyes emptied of emotion. She saw the way his father looked away, in what appeared to be shame, regret and unsaid apology. She saw the way the Host Club all seemed to adapt a strange, frosty exterior, yet nothing in their expressions changed. They remained open, warm and resplendent, yet she had never seen anything so cold in her life.

She put this down to the unfortunate incidents that went on in the Suou family. It didn't mean that they still didn't live in that perfect world, of course not. It couldn't be.

When she saw them again, they were all perfectly fine. That frosty exterior disappeared, but their smiles remained the same. They were warm, open and resplendent - genuinely.

The next time she saw that perfect world crumble was during school hours. She didn't understand why they did it, she doesn't understand to this day. The cruel tricks that the students played, for no apparent reason, on one another made her feel sick to the stomach. It hurt to watch them throw their money around, attempting to inflict pain without raising a finger. She watched as the Host Club watched, only excluded because of their status - their family, their _blood_.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"It's not our place." Was the answer to her question. "They may do as they please with their funds, as long as it does not interfere with us."

She knew he was cold - distant, if you will - but this was a new degree of frigidity for her. She stared at him for a while, the sunlight glinting of his glasses, but knew that no warmth was reaching him. She turned to look at Tamaki, hoping to see, unconsciously, that ray of sunshine, to save her - to save them - from this. _Because it was not supposed to be like this_.

He stared blankly at her for a moment, before his usual, euphoric smile fell into place. Just like a puzzle piece, he made everything fit. She didn't know whether to ask him - whether to _tell_ him. Surely he didn't know, otherwise the "King of the Goody-two-shoes" himself would have taken action? The twins did not call him that for nothing.

Not a thing changed in their flawless lie.

She continued to watch, continued to hurt, as she saw how hard you had to try to survive in their world. Glitter and blood, the more fitting combination. Emotionless smiles, empty laughter. The cracks in their lives, they became more evident as she got closer. They were tiny at first, and she brushed them aside. But ever since then, ever since she saw how he was controlled, she knew they existed. Rivulets of blood trickled through them, staining their fluffy, white carpets and cold grins. The glitter that fell blinded them. The alcohol they drank was to make them forget. The that sunshine poured down on them burned their skin. Their mansions were where they hid from the world - from themselves.

It only mattered who you were, here.

What your name was.

If you didn't register with them, then you were nothing. Meaningless. Worthless.

Maybe it was because everything changed, her view of them changed. Somedays, she would watch as they had to force their smiles. Their laughter would come out harsher than usual, their eyes harder. Kyouya would simply remain silent, his face devoid of emotion and feeling, a glossy finish added for cosmetic purposes. Why wasn't everything perfect, like she imagined? Why? If it wasn't perfect, then could it at least be better than this?

The only person she saw that never faked a smile, or pretended to laugh was him. Whatever pain he was feeling, she would watch him, just before the doors opened, taking a deep breath. All the emotions in his eyes, the darker ones, that tinted his heart, would somehow disappear. They would melt, just like ice, before fading away completely. She marveled at him. He could control himself like no one she had ever met. He would make the customers smile until the doors shut with a final click. His job was always executed without blemishes. He was never inadequate.

And that could be the reason, she mused to herself, that they love him so. In all their forgery and lies, amidst their shams and ersatz emotions, he was authentic. It was rare, almost unreal, that he was the only sincere thing to be found inside a school filled with children. It was also ironic, to her, that while she thought their world to be problem-free and pristine, the only thing flawless about it was him.

It took a while, but she finally accepted that their world was not what she had first thought it to be.

It was the exact opposite.

Acceptance came at a high cost, she found out. Anything in their world came at a high cost. She took the new potted plant from Kasanoda-kun with a word of thanks, fingering the dark, magenta petals sadly. He peered down at her, looking much older than he should be.

"It's not always a good thing when you find out the truth, is it?"

She understood, from that, in their world, life and lie were really only one letter apart. And no matter how many times she watched them save the day, their smiles intact, they would always have to do it again.

Haruhi put the pot plant on the table gently, the thud resounding through the music room. A petal cut through the air and floated to the table's surface, before landing gracefully. It lay there, defeated and immaculate, without fault in its beauty. It was stained red, the color of blood, sweat and tears. It comforted her to know that it had put up a fight - it had opposed and struggled for its freedom.

She looked through one of the endless windows, at the bright sunshine that burned them, their plastic smiles and suffocating glitter, and closed her eyes, wishing simply to save them. To see real smiles on their faces.

* * *

**f**_in_**.**

* * *

**Next _up_:** "Love is shown in your deeds, not in your words_."_


	10. Loquacious

**0.**_**10**_**. Loquacious**_ : "Love is shown in your deeds, not in your words." _- Fr. Jerome Cummings.

* * *

"How **long** do I have to _look_ for?"

* * *

Words. It is difficult to find words that explain attachment. That explain something of utmost importance. It is not enough to liken it to air, because that is simply inadequate. It is so much more valuable than oxygen or breathing. When searching for the right words, confusion can take place. When that happens, misunderstandings may ensue. Entanglements, questions and misconstrues. Raised eyebrows, wonderings and misinterpretations.

He just can't find the words.

It's odd, for _him_, of all people in the world, to be lost for words. He's never out of sugar-coated lines, honey-drenched comments, candy-dipped utterances. Never. Why else would he be deemed 'King'? (Apart from his obvious regal and stately air, of course - you cannot misconceive royalty when you see it. Especially when it is _this_ beautiful.)

Expressing yourself is something of great significance to him. How else do you let the world know when you're happy and when you're sad? Through every look, through every gesture.

He just wishes that he knew how to express _this_. Every single sentence that forms in his mind is meager. Worthless. They do not.. do not..

He grits his teeth, raising his slim fingers to his temples. He exerts pressure on them, letting the force relieve his irritation momentarily. He doesn't want to chase after the words.

He wants _them_ to come to _him_.

He leans back in his chair, running his hands distractedly up and down the arms. They feel cool, hard and wooden under his touch. It's almost relaxing. He sighs slowly, pacing the release.

Suddenly, he rises out his chair and in three, quick (and don't forget elegant) strides, he is at a piano. His fingers run around the edges for a while. Cool. Hard. Wooden. Again. Only, this time, perfect.

He seats himself with a flourish (it seems he is flamboyant even when there is no one to watch - it must be natural, then) and places his fingers tips on the keys.

Yet, he doesn't play.

Just as words come to him, he lets music come to him. His mother taught him to be patient with music, to become friends with music. Lovers, perhaps. It all depends on the amount of love felt for music.

His hands move of their own accord. They press all the right keys, at the right times, for the right reasons.

Moonlight Sonata. First movement.

He doesn't have to focus on what he is playing. His thoughts wander far, far away. Down a lane, across a street. Up an alley, turning right and left. Over the edge of a mountain, down a rabbit hole.

Names.

They flash in front of him. They're emblazoned in his mind. They're burned into his retinas. Their faces link to heir names automatically, without thought.

Haruhi. Kyouya. Hikaru. Kaoru. Honey. Mori.

It's indisputable that she is the first name - the first face - that comes to mind. All dark alder and walnut. Warm, with those amazing, rare smiles, and absolutely flawless. The rest follow in what he thinks is the 'correct order.' (We're not sure why he thinks that this order is correct in his eyes, but even if we asked, we doubt you'd understand.) The ashen Shadow Lord; soft iron and cold, hard onyx. Those devilish twins, honey and sugar, cinnamon and spice. And, of course, Honey and Mori. Opposites to the unsuspecting; sweet, overpowering, Cherries in the Snow.

But it stopped mattering what order their names came in when he came so close to losing them. He just needed a name to hold on to. _Any_ name. _Any_ face. He couldn't. He didn't know. He shouldn't. He _wouldn't_.

He wouldn't be able to handle losing them.

He knew that then, and he certainly knows that now.

When he finally stops playing, he remains completely still. Completely silent.

Words.

Words.

_Words_.

"Maybe.."

He raises his head, a smile crossing his features. It's a sad sort of smile, tinged with some, unnamed emotion. He closes his eyes, letting his skin drink in the moonlight. It seems to quell him.

"Maybe there are no words."

He turns in his seat slightly, his eyes black in the light of the moon, and smiles to himself again. Stronger, this time. With more conviction. More purpose.

_Words_.

In the end, they never came to him. He wonders why, even now.

* * *

**f**_in_.

* * *

**A/N:** Inspired by Chapter 74. I couldn't express it, either. )':

**Next _up_:** "The difference between staying the same and changing everything."


	11. Transmogrify

**0.**_**11**_**.****Transmogrify**_** :** "The difference between staying the same and changing everything."

* * *

_

"What is it _you_ changed in **me**?"

* * *

"Haruhi!"

Singing her name, light footsteps, a breath of fresh air, scented with something sweet and flowery – who else?

She sighs.

"Yes, Tamaki-senpai?"

Now he pouts, lilac eyes sparkling with unshed tears (where did they come from, by the way?). Behind him, Kyouya also sighs.

Unlike Haruhi, he does not have to stay, however. She watches him walk away, her mind wishing to race after him, but her heart basking in her current position. She grinds her teeth.

"Are you not happy to see me, Haruhi?"

It's not that she's _not_ happy. It's more like… _what_ is being felt in the first place?

"No, it's not that."

A smile. Genuine, bright and blinding. (This is why she prefers to wear her glasses. Contacts don't defend against this kind of thing.)

"Then you must be happy to see me?"

If there is agreement, she knows what will happen. Something terrible, for sure. If there is _disagreement_, however, she knows something even worse might result.

"Um…"

Waiting expectantly, the smile still intact, his arms folded elegantly. Why does he always look like he's posing for a photo shoot? Are there hidden cameras around here somewhere? (There probably are, knowing Kyouya.)

"S-Sure?"

It's offered hesitantly; more like a question than an actual answer.

To her surprise, nothing 'terrible' happens. No outbreak of emotion, no fit of crying, no warm arms wrapping around her. (Some part of her feels disappointed, but she doesn't want to talk about that now. …Or ever.)

Those lavender eyes are locked on hers, looking too calculating to be his own. Wondering, contemplative and absorbed.

In a flicker, the look is gone, replaced with a more natural one: another smile. All dazzling and warm, just like a fireworks show.

Blink.

"T-Tamaki-senpai?"

A hand reaches out. A heart catches. _Thump_ _thump_.

_What's_ _happening_?

She wants to ask him, but the words won't come out. What's more is that she waits for his hand to caress–

_Thump_ _thump_.

The vase is righted, its flowers now adjusted.

Something cold passes through her body: disappointment coupled with rejection.

Smile.

She wonders what she was waiting for, when his hand reached out. Something she cannot have? Relief? _Acceptance_?

No, no.

It's more… the fact that she waits for his touch at all.

She's sure she's the same. Well, not _exactly_ the same – things may have changed here and there – but this change… _this_ change–

"Is something wrong, Haruhi?"

Worried eyes, creased forehead, gentle expression. He's back to himself, isn't he?

"No, Tamaki-senpai."

The smile she gives him is knowing and sad. The smile of someone who has understood that nothing can be changed now. She can't tell him – will she ever? – but how does she keep this a secret?

"Nothing at all."

* * *

**f**_in_.

* * *

**Next _up_:** "The thin line between your dreams and my reality."


	12. Oneiric

**_0.12._ Oneiric :**_ "The thin line between your dreams and my reality."_

* * *

"When I **look** at _you_…"

* * *

Warm.

The summer nights in Japan are always warm. The air curls around her body. Beads of sweat pepper her skin, a slight sheen visible in the moonlight. She runs her hand across her neck lazily, her thoughts incoherent. Her whole body feels limp and worn. The tips of her fingers are damp, eyes heavy.

She hates it when she cannot fall asleep.

She likes to blame several things for this insomnia. She blames work, she blames the weather, she blames Global Warming and she blames him.

Haruhi closes her eyes, but images swirl behind them. They drift in and out of her head.

Lately, she's been having dreams about swimming. (Quite a wistful dream, given the predicaments.) The water is cool and laps against her skin. She feels at ease within it, like it has just washed away all her worries, all her stress.

"Haruhi?"

She turns to look at him. He's beside her, covers discarded and shirtless. He also finds it unbearably hot, but refuses to use the air conditioner simply because he "doesn't wish to harm the environment." He's always been this stubborn – this righteous.

"Are you okay? Do you want some water?"

Water. He can read her mind so effortlessly, like it's an open book for him. Her eyes travel down his torso and then along the planes of his face. His golden hair is pushed away from his face, the tips clinging to his neck. Those lavender eyes blink at her innocently. In the middle of the night, they look mulberry, the edges flecked with navy blue.

The glass is held to her lips and she drinks from it without thought. It calms her in an instant. She feels quenched. The residual snakes its way down her neck, some dripping onto the shirt clinging to her form. She sighs slowly, savouring her momentary peace.

"You drank it all, silly girl," he says, smiling at her.

Mother in Heaven, _why_ is he so beautiful? Why is it, when everything else doesn't make sense, he seems to be the only thing that does? With one look, he quells whatever is within her, whether it be a storm or a fire. All it takes is once glance, one moment. She just needs… to look at him.

He presses a palm against her forehead gently, taking her temperature. It's loving. It's kind. It's _him_. His hand moves to caress her face, cupping it. She can smell the scent of something clean – something sweet – on his skin. She can feel the velvet of his flesh. She can sense the blood rushing through his veins.

She strokes his hand. His beauty burns her, but she doesn't care. She just needs to _look_ at him.

Tamaki smiles at her. It's the same smile she sees everyday, the one she has learned not to take for granted, the one that makes her catch her breath. But, at the same time, it's not.

He leans forward. Haruhi does the same, eagerly. Nervously. Unconsciously. What would it feel like? What would he taste like? How does he kiss? How will it make her feel? Her head feels fuzzy; her body starts to buzz. She doesn't know what's happening – but she doesn't care.

Haruhi nearly falls out of her bed.

It's certainly not night anymore, but it's not quite daybreak, either. The sky looks colourless and empty. Even as she sits in her bedroom, the first rays of sunlight begin to tint the sky.

It's still warm. The air is thick and sticky. She rubs her arms; her body feeling like it hasn't gotten any rest at all. She falls back onto her bed, letting her soft pillow cushion her. She sits up again a few seconds later, so she can flip it over. She prefers the cool side.

When had she fallen asleep, exactly? And what kind of dream was _that_?

Haruhi feels all sorts of things in reaction to this dream (she's cursing the weather for it). All sorts of emotions. She's angry. She's defiant. She's in denial. She's (slightly) amused. She's disbelieving. But, most of all, she's scared.

Scared because, really, what was he doing in her bed? (Without a shirt on, no less!) Why had he caressed her so gently? Why had she… enjoyed it?

She shakes her head. _No. That's not right – I must still be asleep. Having a nightmare… within a dream? No, within a _nightmare_. A layer of nightmares. Like one of Honey-Senpai's cakes – except this one is to be feared by all (except Nekozawa-Senpai_…_ and Belzeneff__)._

She rolls over in her bed. She still has an hour and a half before she has to get up and make her way to real-life Tamaki. She feels a smile tug at her lips as she imagines his reaction to her telling him that she's been _dreaming_ about him. _Dreaming_. About _him_.

She closes her eyes again and takes a deep breath.

The scariest thing, to her, is that even though she's worrying about so many things right now – bills to pay, schoolwork, exams, the Host Club, chores – she knows that all she has to do is look at him, and she'll feel all of that ebb away.

She can't tell the difference between a dream and reality anymore. But it doesn't matter, really – he appears in both.

* * *

**f**_in_.

* * *

**A/N:** I was thinking about the song "When I Look At You" by Miley Cyrus while writing this. (:  
**Next _up_:** … Something! xD


End file.
